


Discovering Strength

by UnintelligentConversationalist



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Stiles, I Ship It, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Romance, Self-Lubrication, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Stiles doesn't know all the facts, Stiles says the f-word alot, Tags Are Hard, True Alpha Derek Hale, Underage - Freeform, Violence, Why Did I Write This?, first teen wolf fic, lots of swearing, scott and stiles fight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnintelligentConversationalist/pseuds/UnintelligentConversationalist
Summary: There was only one way to come out of this on top, and he would succeed in the endeavor. He would pick them off one by one. Starting with the Argents, because the easiest way to Scott was through Allison. No one would be seriously hurt, he wasn’t the type. But they would suffer in one way or another. Then, he would destroy them where it hurt the most. Their Alpha._____Or:Stiles is so done with the pack's shit and plots revenge against them but ends up getting way more than he bargained for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first Teen Wolf fic, it is also un-beta-ed, and I'm still in the process of editing and removing errors. So I'm sorry for any you find.
> 
> I want to warn you now, Stiles sort of looses his cool and swears a lot. Like, a lot. There is also information Stiles is not aware of yet, so even though the beginning seems rather tense, it eventually rights itself. I feel I should tell you that there is a huge misunderstanding because I'm worried people might feel that everything will be negative this whole fic. It's not.
> 
> There is dub-con as well as attempted rape. Also, there are some graphic descriptions, but they're written classy-like

Stiles had never realized how much he hated the rain until he was left defenseless to the shit. He didn't know why he was so surprised by everything that had happened tonight. Especially the being stranded bit. Surely nothing involving werewolves should surprise him, but the mere _lack_ of tact was shocking.

Derek, the damned asshole; he was so fucking sick of the Alpha’s shit. Sure, the man wants to run Stiles over with his Camaro? Stiles took it like a champ. Have his betas nearly beat the fuck out of him with his own car—the car his mother had owned, one of the only things he had left of her? Totally fine, Stiles was used to the mistreatment.

But tonight, yeah, that had gone too far. Stiles would sell his soul to protect his friends, to protect Scott, but what did that get him? Nothing, that’s what. He had been tortured, nearly raped, but did anyone give a shit? No, hardly. He was not pack, Stiles didn’t know why he constantly expected that shit to change. Gerard had fucked him up, probably broken his wrist, but Stiles had taken every bit of the abuse. He refused to succumb to a psychotic killer hell bent on destroying his best friend.

Well, if he was honest, Scott was probably his ex-best friend now. The guy certainly had not done much to prove otherwise.

Stiles cursed viciously under his breath, whirling around to stare into the blackness surrounding him. Yeah, he had been fucking ditched and his car taken—he was done. This shit would end now. They wanted a researcher, alright, but if they wanted to use him as a punching bag, then it was a no go. 

This was not normal, and his life was not sane. He was not weak; he would show and prove to them that they had fucked with the wrong Stilinski.

Standing in the downpour he continued to contemplate his plan, but one thing struck a firm cord within him. Fuck Lydia, fuck Jackson, fuck the whole fucking pack. He had given all of himself to them, to help them and he received _nothing_ in return. 

Tonight had been an eye-opener. Jackson the Kanima had been one thing, but the complete ignorance of those around him was outrageous. They pitied the jock, sympathized with him, but the asshole had asked for the fucking bite. It was not any one person's fault that the dick had a corrupt soul. And, in all honesty, Stiles was not surprised.

He had worshiped the ground Lydia walked on like an idiot. His ten-year plan had been fanciful. After (vaguely) knowing her, hearing her speak in his presence—in a context not riddled with false personality—he found her rude, full of herself and lacking in kindness. If he were Hannibal Lecter, he would be eating the bitch. Cause, God knows the man isn’t completely wrong in his tendency to “eat the rude.”

There was only one way to come out of this on top, and he would succeed in the endeavor. He would pick them off one by one. Starting with the Argents, because the easiest way to Scott was through Alison. No one would be seriously hurt, he wasn’t the type. But they would suffer in one way or another. Then, he would destroy them where it hurt the most. Their Alpha.

This was going to be fun.

But first, he had to call his father to come pick him up because that shit about walking home in the rain and being hard core morose? Yeah, no thank you.

He was done playing the victim.

* * *

 

When his father’s police car finally arrived, Stiles was beyond drenched. The rain had not let up, and he had huddled under a large, monstrous looking tree along the edge of the woods to seek relief. His injuries were pulling at his body in pain, something Stiles had ignored through his inner monologue. The adrenaline that had been flushing his system, as well as the overdose of Adderall he had taken hours earlier, which seemed to numb him to the pain, had worn off entirely.

When John Stilinski’s headlights hit Stiles directly, the sight of his son had John Stilinski ripping himself out of the car in an instant. In seconds, he was soaked through as his feet ate up the distance between him and his boy; the suctioning feel of the mud nearly tripped him down, but he pulled himself together.

“Seriously, Stiles. I can’t keep doing this.” John was frantic, this was something he had never expected. His son looked like he had been run over by a bus. “Jesus, kid.” He whimpered as he reached a hand out to touch Stiles’ face. “Who did this?” His voice was harsh and burning fury as he took in the bruises and blood along his son’s expression. “Who the fuck did this?!”

Stiles laughed, and it sounded like a sob. "Dad, I can’t explain everything to you, there are some things that you wouldn't believe, but Gerard Argent kidnapped me, tortured me and nearly raped me before I was able to escape." 

“I’m sorry?” John ripped out, shocked and surprised that Stiles had not bull shitted him for once. “Say that to me again, kid, because I don’t think I heard you clearly.”

Stiles looked at him, and his eyes were dark but clearer than the Sheriff had seen in a long time. What John saw of his kid's face had him burning with rage. The boy's lip was bleeding, and he did not seem to realize that he was gnawing on the cut causing it to bleed more. His left eye would have a real shiner, the swelling already a dark purple and the slice along his jaw looked like it would need stitches.  

Stiles took a deep breath before standing up from his huddle position with a whimper. John reached out to him and gripped him tight, and Stiles cried out in pain.

"Gerard Argent beat me," Stiles said clearly, his voice firm. "He tortured me and tried to rape me, but I got away before he could."

John considered Stiles’ face, looking for some type of lie in his son's features, but for once it appeared that Stiles was not lying. "Baby, how did this happen?" John cupped Stiles' face and flinched at the way the boy hesitated.

The rain seemed to be coming down harder by the second. "Let's get you in the car." The pet name had been a slip-up, his child had not been a baby in a long time, but when Stiles didn’t flinch John let out a relieved breath.

He pulled Stiles closer and lifted him bridal style when he noticed the heavy limp his kid tried to hide. Stiles did not protest, and when John gently lowered him into the car, his boy began to cry. 

"Daddy," He croaked out and John was left dazed. Stiles gripped John's uniform tight, tugging him in close. "You need to take me to Deaton. He can fix everything.”

“Deaton?”

Stiles looked him straight in the eye, the tears were gone just as suddenly as they had appeared. “The veterinarian, he’ll explain everything to you, things I can’t because I don’t have all the facts.” The rain was heavy around them and drummed a heavy staccato against the roof and windshield of the car. 

“Stiles," His father's voice was gravely serious. "No, I’m taking you to the hospital and then we’re going to the police station where we will be fucking filing a report against Mr. Argent. If what you say is true, and for once I believe you, there will be no holds bar on this shit. He beat you, you say he nearly raped you; I’m not going to let this stand.”

“Fine.” Stiles griped out and pulled away. John walked around the car and took deep breaths to calm himself. The situation was dire, unlike anything he had ever been exposed to. Claudia and his time in the Air National Guard not included.

Once he was buckled and settled into his seat he turned to his son. "We'll go to the visit the vet after because I _will_ no longer let this behavior slide.” John was full of anger, someone was going to pay. 

“And where the _fuck_ is your mother’s Jeep?”

 

* * *

 

     Stiles gave the pack four days of dead silence. Four days of his father coming to grips with the fact that werewolves, and most supernatural creatures, were real. Four days of handling police and giving repetitive statements about the situation with Gerard, and having the injuries on his body photographed, as his father stood by and watched with an intensity that frightened most of the deputies. Four days of handling Chris Argent and his uncanny ability to trespass in their home to scare them into retracting the complaint. One day of warding his house with the runes and Mountain Ash Deaton had given, well, been _forced_ to give—considering the sheriff held him at gunpoint most of the time. Chris had broken into their home one too many times and his father had nearly broken the man’s wrist when he attempted to threaten Stiles in the dead of night. Apparently, the sheriff had baby-monitored Stiles' room.

     Stiles was ready and really fucking prepared. There would be no shit taken from the pack, especially Derek, and he had been completely honest with his father. The man was very aware of what Stiles intended to do to the wolves. Again, nothing too physical because he was not Kate Argent, but God _damn_ he would have his revenge.

     His father was completely on Stiles’ side of the situation, and considering there really weren’t many sides in the battle he was about to begin, Stiles couldn't complain. If his wrist had been broken, then it might have been a worse reaction. Though, his father’s relationship with Melissa McCall had taken a sharp, negative turn once he realized that she had been in the know about the pack and much of their shenanigans. Including all the reasons Stiles had ever come home, or visited her at the hospital, injured. It was safe to say that there would be no Jolissa in the future. 

     His precious Jeep, however, had been found trashed and totaled in the depths of Jason MacDonald’s pond on the third day. The man had heard a great, indistinguishable noise, followed by the sound of a massive crash. When he had gone to check, the sight he'd come upon had been startling. The Jeep had been buried in the pond up to its back wheels and what little else he could see of the vehicle was beaten in. Everyone in Beacon Hills knew how much the Jeep meant to the Sheriff and his son. To have done something so cruel so blatantly was a disrespect to both the men.

     Jason was beyond pissed that the perpetrators hadn’t stayed behind so he could kill them for their treachery.

Stiles had cried nonsensically at the unbearable pain of finding his mother’s vehicle so destroyed. The emotions had nearly stopped his heart—his father’s too. How could the pack be so uncaring? Had he done something unforgiving to them? Had he not rescued them numerous times? Once again, it was proof to how little people around him cared about Stiles or the repercussions of their actions against him.

     And when he found out who the _fuck_ had done this he would sue them to hell and back, and then he would murder them. 

      On the fifth day, Stiles returned to school. His face had mostly healed thanks to the salve that Deaton had provided him, once again held at gunpoint. The sheriff was taking this whole thing violently serious.

 The Jeep was unrepairable; the insurance wouldn't cover the damages because the cost was far too high. And that made Stiles even angrier. Since he was no longer able to drive, his father had allowed him to use the car-that-never-left-the-garage-because-it-was-sacred, a 1969 Dodge Charger. The vehicle itself was beautiful, if not a little dusty after living under a protective cover for years, and it came with a severe list of stipulations to him driving it. For example: do not drive above the speed limit, no eating in the car, do not allow others to enter the vehicle, and come home immediately after school. Honestly, he was completely okay with the rules, especially if it made is dad feel more w about the car surviving.

     And he would keep all those promises, except the speed limit because there was no way he could not let the vehicle release its amazingness. He was pretty sure his dad knew that he wouldn't be following that rule, if his huffiness and a rough: _‘I’m serious Stiles, no funny business’_ when he left the house that morning was anything to go by.

     The gentle purr of the car beneath his fingers as he drove to school was relaxing to the turmoil in his mind. The cherry red color made the vehicle stand out in the parking lot when he pulled into school. And the incredulous stares he received as he exited the vehicle made him feel a little exhilarated, but he schooled his face. That wasn't why he'd driven the car.

 "Sup, Stilinski, you get the shit beat out of you?" Greenburg shouted as Stiles locked up the Charger. 

     “Fuck off.” He replied, ignoring the boy’s question, and turned away to walk to class.

     Greenburg let out a shocked sound behind him and mumbled something to the lacrosse team that had gathered around him.

     “Fuck is your deal?”

 Stiles turned around and laughed a little. "Your face, apparently." 

 Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted most of the pack lined along the entrance to the school. When he settled his gaze on them, mostly on Scott who had his arm wrapped tightly around Alison, he sneered so viciously that Isaac flinched back. "Sack of shit." He mumbled, and the injured expression on Scott's face had Stiles blatantly pleased. 

     Yeah, this was going to be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Find me on Tumblr, I'm taking requests, if anyone is interested.
> 
>  [Epscape](http://e-p-scape.tumblr.com/)


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